


Courage

by orphan_account



Category: Glee
Genre: Homophobia, M/M, Multi, Object Insertion, Older Man/Younger Man, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Violence, Spitroast, kurt is raped, non consensual sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 05:35:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13968480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: 'I'm a stupid gay kid who gets off on being bullied.'Delete.Delete.'Barely legal wants to get fucked.'Delete.'I'm a little daddy's boy but sometimes I just want to break the rules...'That smug smile.'...Young high-schooler, looking for a strong vicious older man who will punish me for being a spoiled brat...'That superior attitude.'...Break into my house between 4 and 6 in the afternoon and rape me, as hard as I deserve it...'He'll get what he deserves.'...No safeword. Make me scream.'Who's smiling now, you fag.





	Courage

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was taken from http://glee-angst-meme.livejournal.com/15590.html?thread=11528678#t11528678
> 
> The original was without a title, so I made one up for it.
> 
> I wanted to make it more accessible so I copied it word for word. The author is anonymous so I can't properly credit them, but this story does NOT belong to me.
> 
> In case you didn't read the tags this story is not for everyone, it contains rape and violence.

'I'm a stupid gay kid who gets off on being bullied.'

Delete.

Delete.

'Barely legal wants to get fucked.'

Delete.

'I'm a little daddy's boy but sometimes I just want to break the rules...'

That smug smile.

'...Young high-schooler, looking for a strong vicious older man who will punish me for being a spoiled brat...'

 

That superior attitude.

'...Break into my house between 4 and 6 in the afternoon and rape me, as hard as I deserve it...'

He'll get what he deserves.

'...No safeword. Make me scream.'

 

Who's smiling now, you fag.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Kurt laughed. "No, Blaine. On puppies and five year olds, it's endearing. You on the other hand should stop before you embarass yourself any further." He listened with a smile to the boy on the other side of the line, excitable chatter filling his ears. He went to the kitchen and grabbed a bowl from the back of the cupboard, placing it on the counter. 

"This sucks," he said when Blaine finished his monologue, and turned to the stove, "the one night I get the house all to myself and you can't come over. Missed opportunity. It's a complete tragedy." He checked on his spaghetti and turned off the heat before doing the same with the pot of sauce. 

"A musical marathon, of course. What did you think I was implying," he said with a teasing lilt to his voice. There was laughter at the other end and Kurt's chest tightened, wishing the person whose voice it belonged to was right next to him instead of singing Kumbayah with some tree-huggers. 

He forced those emotions from being noticeable in his voice and piped up, "Well then, you go and enjoy your wonderful bonding experience sleeping on questionable looking dirt and bathing in water that I'm sure at least a hundred different animals have used as toilets, while I'll spend my lonesome night at home with my running water and three hundred thread count sheets." 

"Oh, wow. Burnt marshmellows. Now I'm jealous."

Kurt sighed dramatically when Blaine asked about his plans. "I'll probably just wallow in front of the tv. Watch my Grey's Anatomy set. Have an early dinner. Look at me, I'm just living on the edge!" They exchanged a few more words before closing their conversation. "Have fun, Blaine. Of course. I'll see you Monday. Bye."

He ended the call and pocketed his phone. He served himself the spaghetti, deciding to give himself a bigger portion than usual to indulge his self-pity. By now he regretted saying no to Mercedes' invitation to go shopping, but he was saving up for a particular jacket and if he went, he knew he wouldn't be able to stop himself from spending his hard-earned savings. Social sacrifices have to be made. 

He left the rest of the spaghetti on the stove, deciding to store them once they've cooled down a bit. He was used to cooking for more that himself. The rest of the family could have it when they come home for lunch tomorrow. He went to the living room and flipped through the channels, not watching Grey's Anatomy but deciding to settle on a Project Runway rerun instead. 

Kurt had just sat down on the couch when the doorbell rang. With furrowed brows, he placed his bowl on the coffee table and got up. He wasn't expecting anybody, and if Finn had his sleepover plans cancelled, he would've called. 

The mirror insert at the door alluded to the burly shape of a man. Perhaps it was one of his dad's friends. He opened the door, polite smile of his face. "Yes?"

The moment revealed a much older man, who looked more or less his father's age, though unlike his father the man looked tougher and fit, obvious bulging biceps stretching the fabric of his leather jacket. He looked like a biker, though Kurt could see no such vehicle behind him. 

The man hadn't answered, instead looking at Kurt with a hard scowl. Suddenly irrational fear fear crept up his spine. Suddenly he wished Finn had brought over Puck to hang at their house instead. Suddenly all he could think about was how he was home alone and there was nobody there if something horrible happened. 

He reprimanded himself internally for those thoughts. They were borne from stereopying, ignorance and fear, the exact things he had to deal with his whole life, so who was he to make such judgements. Still, his fingers played nervously at the doorframe. 

He tried again, "Can I help you?"

"Kurt Hummel?" he said after a beat. 

"Yes?" The man pushed at his chest and he stumbled, but his indignition turned to fear when the man entered after him, slamming the door closed. His eyes widened. 

"What-?" His words were cut short by the backhand across his face. He fell at the force of the hit. By instinct, he quickly found purchase and was on his feet in the next second. He ran three steps before something clutched at the back of his shirt and he was thrown once more to the ground. A swift booted kick to his ribs made him cry out and gasp torturously before a weight planted itself on his chest. The man had straddled him and was now gripping his hair in a rough hold. A second backhanded slap to his cheek and the man leaned in close to his face. 

"This is what happens to brats," he sneered. He sat back up and slapped him with as much force as before. Kurt couldn't think from the stinging pain. His face felt like it was burning. He couldn't catch his breath as he was slapped again, and again, and again. Kurt's hands tried desperately to push off the man but his efforts were useless as the assault continued. The slaps came without stop until his next gasp came with red specks that stained the flooring. 

The grip on his hair was released and the man got off him. Kurt curled on his side, coughing and clutching his bruised rib. He could taste the blood between his teeth. 

The hand grabbed his hair again and dragged his whole body with little effort. Kurt screamed, kicking out desperately and holding onto the hand that was tearing out his hair. 

They were by the kitchen when they stopped. The man kicked him a few more times before hoisting him up. Strings of bloody spit painted Kurt's chin. His body was thrown haphazardly atop the dining table, too weak now to fight back. His right arm was pulled to stretch beside him and only when he felt the tape rolled around his wrist then to the table leg, did his mind become coherent. 

"Please, stop... please..." he croaked, "T-take anything. Anything you want. I won't - I won't tell anyone. Please." The man chuckled and pulled at Kurt's other arm. Kurt grit his teeth at the impossible stretch as the man taped it down the same way. He stayed still as any movement he made felt as though would tear his arms from its socket. 

"It's cute that you haven't figured it out yet," the man said. His hand travelled the length of Kurt's arm, to his back before grabbing his hair to force his face up. "I am taking what I want." And with those words, he captured Kurt's stained lips in a bruising kiss, ending it with a hard bite that broke the skin of his lower lip.

He walked away from view, leaving Kurt where he lay. He tried to rest on his cheek but it aggravated the pain from earlier so he was forced to uncomfortably look forward. As the sound of the man ransacking through drawers entered his ears, a realisation came to him. 

The man had known who he was; he identified him by name. This wasn't just some random breaking and entering. This was personal. The stranger had come to his house especially, probably knowing that he was alone, and did this to him. Planned to come here and do this to him. 

And the kiss. Kurt didn't want to think about what it meant. What it alluded to. Because things like that were not supposed to happen to him. Not at his own house. He shut his eyes tight, wishing that this would all turn out to be a bad dream when he opened them. 

But the footsteps that came closer shattered that thought. "You won't be needing this tonight," he said, and proceeded to cut across the back of Kurt's shirt. The man shoved away the fabric and his back was fully exposed. He whined with fear when the man placed his hands on his back and began rubbing his skin. "So smooth," the man claimed, "so beautiful." Then he gave an unexpected lick along his spine, causing Kurt to finally open his eyes and struggle painfully as he tried to get away from the sensation. The man chuckled at his helplessness. He laid on top of Kurt, crushing his chest, mimicking his stretched position. "What I would do to you..." the man said softly, and started rocking his hips. And then Kurt felt it. The hardness against his ass, rubbing at every forward motion, becoming more prominent as the man thrust harder and harder. He moved his hand to curl at the nape of Kurt's neck, clutching and loosening his hold. "Oh dear God," he moaned, and grunted through his movements. "I'm so close, darling. I'm so close." His breath was hot against Kurt's face. The table had started creaking. The man was going faster, and faster. And suddenly he stopped. He was still hard. 

A sinful chuckle. "Did you like that?" Kurt hid his face in humiliation and fear, realising that he was just being played with. "Maybe it's time for the real thing?" 

The man was off his back and was snipping away at the rest of his shirt that covered his arms. Once the remnants of his shirt was disposed of, the hands started to work on his pants.

The gravity of the situation reared its head once more and Kurt renewed his struggles. "No! No, please, don't. Why are you doing this? Why?" His please were ignored as his pants were pulled down and off, his underwear following. Kurt's face heated at being so exposed. It was ironic that this was the table where his dad had given him the sex talk. Oh, god. His dad. What would this do to him?

A sharp slap on his ass broke him from his thoughts. "So fucking beautiful..." Big hands were groping him and Kurt tried bring his mind elsewhere, away from what was happening to him. He heard the man spit then two fingers were shoved inside him. The searing pain made him gasp brokenly. It was too much, too fast. Tears started forming in his eyes. They pumped a few times before disappearing. 

Kurt kicked behind him, but the man just grabbed his thighs, lifting his legs, holding them in a hard grip so that his lower half was almost horizontal. "Get the hell off me, you bastard! Get off!"

This was not happening, this was not happening, this was not- 

A guttural scream tore out of Kurt when the man forced himself inside him in one thrust. And he kept going, without stop, thrusting in and out of Kurt in a relentless pace. "Fuck. Fuck," the man grunted. "You're fucking tight, bitch."

The table shook, loud thudding noises against the carpet. Kurt's stretched arms felt like their muscles would be ripped but the pain below was much worse. He bit his lower lip but his anguished cries still filled the room. The slap of skin against skin joined the noise. 

It felt too long. The man's breath became harsher and louder and his movements more uncoordinated. His grip tightened even harder and with a few more thrusts, he released himself into Kurt, orgasming through stunted movements until every last drop was in him.

He let go of Kurt's legs and flopped down, hands resting against Kurt's ribs. It was the deadest silence except for his breath evening out. Then, finally, he stood back up and pulled himself out. Instantly Kurt could feel the wetness, seeping out and cooling as it hit the air and down his inner thighs. 

"Looks like I tore you up a bit." Kurt choked on a sob. He was just raped. In his own home. He didn't want to think about it; how his 

life was just shattered in a matter of minutes, how he will never be the same again. Another burst of tears escaped him. Everything was hurting so much. He didn't want to be found like this, by Carole or Finn or his dad. Oh god. He tried to struggle from his taped bonds, but stopped rigid when he felt the fingers on his wrist.

The man was still here.

"Fun's not over yet, Sweets."

Kurt looked up with fearful eyes, but averted them quickly when he couldn't handle staring into the eyes of the man who had just raped him. "P-please... please leave me alone..." Kurt knew it was a pathetic attempt, but the chuckle above him made his blood run colder. 

"Now why would I do that? I think I still have time for another round."

"Well, shit." Kurt saw the man startle when they heard the new voice. A new wave of embarassment hit him when he realised of the sight he made, the damage done to him, but his survival instincts made him look over his shoulder, not even registering why a stranger would be in his home, and shout, "Please help! Help me-" In one quick movement, the first man grabbed his head in one hand and roughly banged it down against the table, making Kurt cry out in pain. The hold was tense and hard, squeezing into his skull.

Was the other guy just standing there? Why wasn't he doing anything! "Aww, man. Sorry. I didn't think about anyone else seeing the listing." Kurt felt the hold give slightly, but among the fear and pain, he felt confusion at the choice of words.

But they were pushed to the back of his mind when his rapist said, "You want a go?"

"No no no no no no..." the words came out of him like a mantra. He could feel the silent communication exchanging between the two adults as his mind still tried to escape the situation, trying to convince him it wasn't real. But it was, completely. In the next moment, his head was pulled back by the hair and he was face to face with the other man. 

He looked younger than the biker, less muscled, and wore a cheap ill-fitting suit that made him look like a low-management office worker. There was a manic glint in his eyes. 

"What you need is a lesson in respect and knowing your fucking place. You're just a little shit and the only thing you deserve is what we give to you." He let go of Kurt's head and stood up straight. He rubbed his palm against his crotch feverishly and Kurt watched in horror as the tent in his pants grew. It was suddenly shoved into his face. "Smell that? That's all for you." One hand on the back of his head forced him in place, leaving him helpless from the gyrations of the suited man. 

And then there was a loud click. 

Looking up revealed the man holding his phone out, inches from Kurt's face. Another click, and a flash in his eyes. "So fucking hot," the man mumbled, before messing around on the phone and holding it up again. Kurt knew it was now taking a video. The man moved back a few steps. 

Kurt pleaded once more. "Please stop... please... no... I don't want this. Please, I don't want this..." 

"He looks- are you sure-" There was hesitation for the first time. 

"If you can't handle it then get out and take your sissy dick with you!" The voice, after a long absence, came from somewhere to his left. Kurt held his breath during which no one moved, but then the man walked around the table until he was out of view. He heard the sound of a belt buckle. "Please!" he shouted, trying to appeal to some part of the man that wouldn't go through with this. Then zippers. "Please!" he cried out, even as his words turned hoarse.

He had no warning when the man's cock plunged into him. "Fuck, yes," the man hissed as he buried himself to the hilt. Kurt didn't think he could scream as loud as the first time, but he was proven wrong. The man pulled himself out until only the head was inside, before thrusting himself in deep once again. He repeated the motions again and again. "Fucking ass, taking me in like candy. You fucking love this, don't you? You're such a little slut." Kurt took laboured breaths through clenched teeth, trying to just survive through this. But this night was far from easy for Kurt when suddenly his jaw was grabbed.

"Let's put that mouth to good use." Fingers pressed roughly at his cheeks, forcing Kurt to open his mouth. The thick cock was shoved roughly past his lips and Kurt choked almost immediately. His head was forced in place as the length stopped its movement, all the while being fucked by the man behind him. He kept gagging, the urge to throw up coming every few seconds until he was sure his face had turned red, but the man was unrelenting. 

After a couple minutes, he managed to calm his throat and breath from the little air he could get. That was when the man started rocking, his cock moving in and out of his mouth, coated with a layer of saliva and specks of blood. The two men fucked him at different paces, disorienting him. He was helpless. They quickened, slowed, paused, jerked. Kurt just took it, feeling his naked chest rub against table, the slight sheen of sweat making the skid a little more painful. He had lost the last vestige of the fight within him. The only sounds left were the slap of skin against skin, harsh breath, and soft gargled gasps from Kurt every now and then. 

"Aww, fuck, I'm coming." The man behind him started thrusting faster, digging his fingers into Kurt's hips. A few seconds later, Kurt felt the rush of come spurt deep into. The man jerked and groaned until the last of it released before he finally removed himself. "Man, look at that." Kurt felt fingers on his ass cheeks, stretching them out to reveal his hole. Two fingers pushed in and scissored out, and he could feel come dribble out again. "So hot. Hey, let me get that." The fingers were gone but in exchange, the camera phone was again pointing at his face. Before long, the cock was removed from his mouth. A few strokes, and come was splattered onto his face, landing on his cheek, his left eyelid and down his jaw. A big swipe was taken at his cheek and fingers shoved into his mouth.

"Take it." But Kurt couldn't bring himself to; his head dropped on the table once the grip released and his mouth opened slack, letting the come pool out. 

"You're done, now fuck off."

"Jeez, man." It took Kurt a moment to realise the two men were talking to each other. But the phone was removed without further protest. He heard the man zipping himself back up, and footsteps walking away. 

"Little office bitch." A chair was scraped over and the man sat in front of him. "It's you and me now. Looks like there's twenty minutes until six." He started to stroke Kurt's hair with mock gentleness. "Just what will I do in those twenty minutes?"

"I'm hungry," the biker suddenly stated, getting up and walking the short distance to the main kitchen area. Though if he craned his neck he would be able to see what the man was doing, right now Kurt almost couldn't care if he broke into the China cabinet and smashed all the plates, and merely conceded to listening. He tried to keep himself as still as possible; if he moved too much or breathed too deep, the bruises would be aggravated. 

A bowl was dropped carelessly onto the table and specks of sauce splattered to his face. "You got a whole pot back there. Do you always waste so much food?" The man had served himself the spaghetti he made earlier. He stabbed a fork into the noodles and began to eat. 

After a while, Kurt was starting to feel anxious. The man wasn't doing anything to him, just sitting there eating. And he said something about just twenty minutes. Time was ticking by. 

"You're probably hungry after all that," he said suddenly. He spun some spaghetti around his fork. "I'm going to be nice to you." He held it out to Kurt's lips. "Here, have some." Kurt tried to move away from it but the man forced it into his mouth. His throat was still aching from earlier, so he let the food escape his lips. The fork was thrown down with a clatter.

"If you can't eat this, then why did cook it?" the man said as he stood up. Kurt's fear hiked up once more. "That a thing a brat like you does?" He returned to the main kitchen area. Kurt didn't know what he was doing until the pots filled with the spaghetti and sauce made a thud as they were placed on the table beside him.

He continued, "Open the whole packet and use everything? Wasting shit?" He grabbed a handful of the noodles and Kurt only had an inkling before it was shoved into his mouth. "Think daddy's just gonna buy you more? Eat it!" More were shoved in until they could fit no more, spilling out in threads. The rest was thrown over his body. The man grabbed the pot of sauce. Kurt shook his head tearfully.

He dumped the sauce over Kurt's head and - small mercies it had already turned warm - then down the length of his body. A hand smashed itself against his face, spreading the sauce all over, bits of it entering his nose as he tried to breathe. He coughed and spluttered, spitting out the noodles when the hand was removed. 

The pot was thrown to the floor with a clang. The man spread the sauce around so that it was covering every limb. "Yeah, I'm gonna make you eat it. If you won't take it through your mouth..." Kurt tensed when he felt the warm sauce and meaty bits being pushed into his hole. He left again, making more noise now in the kitchen as he shifted through for whatever he was looking for. He came back soon enough, and showed what he found in front of Kurt's face. "You'll like this," he said.

It was a used whisk.

"Wha-" The man moved out of his view. In his mind Kurt knew, realised what he was going to do, but that didn't stop the shock, the fear flowing through him when he felt the metal against ass. He started rubbing it between the cheeks as Kurt whimpered his denial. 

His legs were spread further apart. "If you tense, you'll only make it harder for yourself," he said, before he aligned the whisk and started pushing in. 

Kurt scrunched his face at the pain of the stretch. He had bought the whisk himself, choosing the sturdiest one he thought was there; long, made of thicker steel, and the widest in the shop. It was wider then any of the men. Kurt gasped. The man pushed harder. 

A low wail escaped Kurt's lip. He could feel himself tearing from the abnormal pressure. One more harsh push, and the widest part entered him, the rest following relatively easily. Kurt gasped out his breaths. 

"Damn." The whisk was pulled and pushed in shallow thrusts, and circled inside him like a dial. He could feel every steel wire of the whisk. Kurt felt disgusted at himself, at his body. 

A plastic shopping bag was suddenly thrown over his head and tightened around the neck. It wasn't airtight, but it was enough to make Kurt panic and struggle against his bonds. He wheezed for air as it become uncomfortably warm and unpleasant from the mix of come and spaghetti sauce. All he could concentrate on was his breathing and the pounding behind him. It was removed eventually and Kurt took in deep deprived breaths. Even the movement of the whisk had stopped, though it was still inside him. It was only then did he hear the phone ringing. 

A beep. 

A voice came through. "Hey, Kurt. Just checking in on you, buddy. If you need anything, just call us. Don't do anything I wouldn't do. Or anything I won't allow you to do. Trust me, I'll know. See you tomorrow; Carol and I will be back around lunchtime. Enjoy your night."

A click, a beep, and the house was silent. 

"Interesting..." the man finally spoke out. He walked around to face Kurt, tilting his dirtied face up by a finger to the chin. He smirked, a look filled with promise, and Kurt couldn't help letting out a small whimper. "Well," he continued, with a deceptive lightness to his tone, "looks like we've got all night, darling?"

Kurt's body flinched and he opened his eyes to consciousness. The kitchen spun in his vision, and when it righted, the eerie stillness made itself known. He didn't know how long it had been since he was left alone; a few minutes, maybe a few hours. After his words, he man had walked casually out of the kitchen. Kurt had heard distant bangs and thuds before the darkness claimed him. And here he was now. 

He was beginning to feel lightheaded. 

He registered a low screeching in his head, like a microphone too close to the speakers. He moved his head and the sound stopped, and the bluriness he hadn't noticed suddenly disappeared, clearing his vision to sharp focus. And with it, came the pain. The horrible pain. 

Kurt's jaw opened in a silent scream before he let out a broken sob and his face teared once more. His entire body was hurting. Every bruise on his body that he'd forgotten - his hips, ribs, cheeks - the pain amplified with a vengeance. The food was still on him, cooled now, though it seemed the whisk was removed while he was unconsious. The sound of footsteps barely entered in his mind until something was dropped unceremoniously on his back. 

"I did a little bit of exploring," came the dreaded voice. "Found something I like." It was some thick, heavy rope. The man came over to Kurt's front. He grabbed an arm and cut away at the restraints, leaving some wrapped tape around his wrist. He did the same for the other. He placed his hands under Kurt's arms, then pulled, letting his slide across the table and fall into a heap on the floor with a loud thud.

Kurt saw stars when his skull whacked against the surface. The man shoved him on his back and straddled him. There was a fast ripping sound before a hand touched his neck, placing something there. Duct tape. He rolled it around once, twice, lifting Kurt's head every time he went under. Kurt couldn't fight it. The tape was rolled tightly, but just enough that he could still breathe. He could already feel his neck pulsing harder though, and his face feeling slightly numb. 

The man got off and Kurt was pushed onto his stomach. The rope was slid into his mouth a couple times before they were wrapped around his neck. "This is what you are. How you should be treated." The man pulled at his end of the rope until Kurt's upper chest was lifted off the ground. "Like a dog." Kurt struggled, trying to grasp at the rope as it tightened around his neck. He was seeing spots, eyelids fluttering before the man finally loosened his hold. Kurt rasped, curling into himself as much as he could. "Hands and knees like the dog you are." He tugged at the rope but Kurt's limbs felt too weak. He tugged harder, getting more cruel until Kurt finally got up shakily to the position.

"Now crawl." A shoe was planted on his backside as it pushed him forward. Kurt was sluggish in his movements, but he kept on until they left the kitchen into the living room. Small red streaks left imprints on the carpet, the little bit of sauce on Kurt's fingers being wiped off. Halfway through, he fell to his elbows, unable to support himself further in weak arms. "Keep going," the man growled. Kurt moved on his forearms. 

They ended up by the stairs. "We're going up." The man started up first before tugging at the makeshift leash for Kurt to follow. Kurt struggled to meet his pace and he stumbled at a few steps. The man was not stopping though, and he dragged Kurt up the rest of the steps. His weak protests were ignored as he was dragged further across the first floor into a room. Kurt coughed and wheezed as he tried to find his breath. When he looked up, he instantly recognised it as his dad and Carol's room. 

"Look at you." A used shirt - it smelled like his Dad's - was shoved in his face as the man started to roughly wipe off the stains. "You're a disgusting mess." He went over the rest of Kurt's body, getting most of the food, before throwing the shirt away. The rope was loosened and removed. A hand grabbed his right arm and started to haul him towards the bed. 

"The last time; gotta make it nice, right?" He was hefted up and on the bed. The bed depressed slightly under his weight. Kurt heard the sound of fabric shuffling, and when the man came into view, he was nude. What the clothes covered were now shown; it was no wonder he could easily overpower Kurt and push him around like a rag doll. He got on the bed, and even on his knees he was towering. 

"Anything you want to say?"

Kurt was fearful, but there was something he wanted to know. He swallowed a few times before he could words out of his mouth. Even then, they came out a whisper. "Y-you know who I am... What... what have I ever done... to you..."

The man studied him for a moment. "Personally? Nothing," he said. It sounded so casual, so strange in the situation, like he was just another guy. "I might have even stopped when I realised..." He was holding up a piece of folded paper and threw it on the bedside table. Then he changed. Back to monster that invaded his home and violated him. A feral grin. "Unfortunately for you, darling," he said, getting up close, "you are a lot more beautiful in real life."

The kiss was mockingly gentle. He didn't respond to the man's pecks on his lips. A hand traveled from his jaw down the length of his body. All Kurt could focus on was his breathing, loud and laboured from the restrictions on the tape. 

"Fucking loose already." The man chuckled then, and said low, as if a private joke, "Probably shouldn't have used that whisk." Fingers, in him and now gone. His legs were pushed apart further and raised slightly before the man settled between them. He pushed in. 

Kurt could feel the motion. Back. And forth. He could feel the touch. Skin. Sweat. Heat. 

But they were just things. Unimportant things. Even though he see could see and taste and feel, it felt like his mind had blacked out. Blank. He hardly noticed when the man touched his length and started to stroke it. Didn't protest when the man accused him of enjoying it. When they both came at the same time. 

"You've been a good little whore." 

The man got off him and Kurt heard the telltale rustling of the man getting dressed. He returned back to Kurt's side before turning his unresponsive body to lie on his stomach, exposing his backside. 

The man reached into his back pocket and took out his wallet. He retrieved a quarter and looked back at Kurt with a smirk. He leaned down and slipped the coin easily into Kurt's hole. 

He patted his ass. "Just know, there's more where that came from, sweet cheeks."

And then he left. 

Kurt had watched him go. Everything was suddenly so silent. Tiredness was seeping into his bones once more. But he didn't want to close his eyes and open them again just to see the man come back, ready with other depraved things to do to him. Not even as his vision blurred, the world muted around him and the darkness threatened to overtake him.

He kept his eyes open as the soft light of dawn entered through the curtains. As the sound of cars whizzed by as people started their day. Until he heard that sound enter the driveway, car doors open and shut. Then he heard the faint sound of his father's voice, so familiar. He felt he could finally be safe, and allowed himself sleep's embrace. He saw his father appear at the door, eyes widening at the sight of him just as he closed his. 

 

Epilogue

 

Four weeks later, the Hummel family had moved, the house up for sale and the garage under different management. But the Lima residents were still gossiping about the event that happened in the now empty house. A teenage boy, wearing a letterman jacket and driving a beat up pick-up truck would sometimes extend his route to pass by the house. He would slow down, stare, remember the horrors of what happened there in the dozen articles that picked up the story, and drive off with a smirk on his face. 

His town was cleaned of one more freak. 

It could easily happen again. 

 

End.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a one-shot and will not get a second part unless the original author decides to write more.
> 
> Once again, I cannot credit the author because they posted anonymously. You can find the original here: http://glee-angst-meme.livejournal.com/15590.html?thread=11528678#t11528678
> 
> Please tell me if I'm missing any warnings, I'll put them up if needed.


End file.
